Recognizing You
by Takei Hisa
Summary: For one would definitely recognize another, so thus these two shall meet. Francis Bonnefoy One-shot


A/N: Reviews are greatly appreciated, So Danke~  
Re-paragraphed this 3

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I twisted the oh-so thin lock of sheen blonde hair between my elongated fingers, intertwining it with another two hastily, interlocking them together downwards, and focusing on the sleek and concentrated pattern within the tiny braid. An intoxicating fragrance of roses could be whiffed, and it was obviously coming from Francis' slightly damp hair.

I entertained my childish fanciful desires by mucking around, attempting to beautify the already extremely stunning Frenchman, but I only could succeed in making him look like a miserable hobo with no sense of style whatsoever. He chuckled lowly as I ghosted my fingers over his blanched cheek, admiring the pale, smooth complexion he had that most women would commit murder for. It was almost as if I was examining a perfect specimen of the human race. He had cerulean blue eyes that glimmered brightly whenever we discussed a topic which he showed extreme fondness for, and his nose was not too pointy; In fact, it was just the right crookedness. The highlight however, was his rather long, soft blonde hair with sandy highlights which would always find the correct position and angles to fall in, and it always enhanced his attractiveness appeal by two times. I trailed my abnormally long fingers down the features of his well-structured face, tracing them delicately, as if I were carving an imprint of them within my very mind. "Darling, just what are you doing?" he asked quizzically, plaintively amused by my kid-like antics.

"Shh. I'm observing the epitome of beautifulness and perfection." I declared, scrutinizing the freckles that randomly dusted his high cheekbones. He simply shook his head knowingly and once again, that gentle, all-understanding smile resurfaced upon his masculine face as he complied with my actions. In my eyes, Francis Bonnefoy was a man of utmost strength and courage.

When we had first met, his eyes had the underlying sorrow in it, and no matter how finely he smiled, or how broadly he grinned, the specific air of loneliness clung on to him, and in did not matter which direction he walked in, that cloud of grief would tag along. Memories of grand, luxurious dinners consisting of the finest of all culinary dishes eaten sorrowfully alone and the gloomy nights where he would sit by his balcony; Memories of swirling a glass of blood-red wine within his calloused and large hands, gazing out into the blank open space before him, watching the lavender and sometimes even burgundy evening clouds of all shapes and sizes roll by gracefully were all that haunted him. I was in no better state too.

Before I met Francis, my life was a wreck without a particular meaning to it. Having re-watched the scenes of crumbling, stinging heartaches and experiencing them first-hand was the general summary of my adult love life. As you may expect, my love life gradually eroded away from all the torn seams, and it became short flings that I would take as seriously as an adult would take a four year old child claiming to want to be president. I never took the feelings of the opposite gender to heart. In my blatant, biased opinion they were just mere puppet dolls out for only one thing, and it certainly was not a stable relationship.

However, he changed that blunt, hazed view off mine. Three years ago, on this exact day, I would definitely not have imagined us being together like any other couple you would find on the streets of Paris. I guess you could call it, "One would recognize his own kind," which was probably what knit us together in the very first place. Walking past each other in a tightly-packed carnival on the fourteenth of July, past the crowd's erupting cheers for the fireworks, past the other couples who were hand-in-hand, sending the other a telepathic sign of 'I love you' through their glances.

All it took was just walking—no, grazing past him to be exact. All it took was just grazing past Francis Bonnefoy to make my cheerless, sombre heart start whirring to life once again. That was all it took. I was almost sure that he'd felt it too, because on that fateful night, to us, the stars shone just a tad bit brighter.

I blinked, back to reality, away from the merry figment of imagination, back to his piercing glassy blue orbs. "Cherie?" I hear his sensual, heavily accented voice. I beam from ear to ear, embracing him tightly, sending him my own telepathic messages of "I love you." And by his returning of the affectionate physical embrace, I was almost a hundred percent confident that he meant, "I love you too."


End file.
